


Dear Lacquer

by pawsdash



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Steve Rogers, Injury Recovery, M/M, Major Character Injury, Protective Tony Stark, Stabbing, Steve Needs a Hug, Tony Feels, Tony isn't taking any shit, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 00:09:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15084761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: "What you need to do is to get your spicy, all-American ass back to bed before your husband makes your stab wound look like a paper cut."In which Steve is injured and Tony is more than a bit worried.





	Dear Lacquer

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all!  
> This is literally just a fluffy drabble on injury recovery- not much else to say there.  
> Also, I have zero idea what that title is supposed to be. It's just a line from Dancer by Novo Amour which is a BEAUTIFUL song. Doesn't really inspire this work at all, but it's just an absolutely beautiful song that could easily play in the background of this fic.
> 
> Trigger warnings:  
> Somewhat graphic description of injury

Okay, so maybe trying to leave Stark tower at five in the morning was a bad idea when Tony had strictly forbade him to leave. But really, how much more could he hurt himself? He had figured that Tony would never find out- the engineer got up at eleven AM at the earliest on Thursdays, giving him at least six hours to take a light jog around the block. However, Jarvis seemed to disagree. Steve pushed the button to the main floor again, the light going out just as quickly as it had flashed on.

 

_“Access denied.”_

He tried pushing a button to another floor.

_“Access denied.”_

Kitchen floor? Basement floor?

_“Access denied.”_

 

Suddenly, the elevator doors slid open, revealing the penthouse floor once again. The darkness of the room was slightly illuminated by the glow of the light in the elevator, casting a feeble beam onto a dishevelled figure. There stood Tony, a too-big Led Zeppelin t-shirt hanging off of his smaller frame and baggy pyjama pants nearly curtaining over his bare feet. His hair stuck up in all sorts of strange angles, brown tufts falling lopsided over his forehead. Steve would have chuckled if not for the terrifyingly pissed-off expression on Tony’s tired face. His arms were crossed over his chest, hip cocked.

“I-I…” Steve began, face a comical expression of guilt. “I just need to get out, Tony,” he explained. Tony’s non-verbal communication stayed the same, not moving from his unimpressed stance.

“No, what you need to do is to get your spicy, all-American ass back to bed before your husband makes your stab wound look like a paper cut.” Tony threatened, shooting Steve a look from beneath his brows which dared Steve to test him. With a resigned huff, Steve shouldered past Tony and made his way back into the dark bedroom, stripping off his white tank top to reveal his bandaged side.

“Tony, it’s really not that bad,” Steve argued, feeling his chest twist with anger. Tony had kept him on lockdown for two days now and Steve itched to do anything, _anything_ else. 

“Do you seriously want to have this conversation at five in the morning? Because we both know that I graduated MIT at seventeen and that outsmarting you _won’t_ give me any grief.” The smaller man had begun to tap at some holograms by the window, sliding a dial up and tapping a few times. 

“Tony!” Steve exclaimed in exasperation, flopping down on the king-sized bed. “I am _fine!”_ Both arms remained splayed out, his eyes trained on the ceiling. 

“Not only is there a gaping wound a few inches away from your appendix, but I suppose you haven’t looked in a mirror yet this morning,” Tony countered, rifling through a first aid kit that had been sitting in one of the drawers. He retrieved what he had been looking for and pulled it out, an instant ice-pack. He popped the chemical bag inside and shook it, the bag becoming icy almost as quickly as he had shaken it. He made his way back to the bed, crawling over to Steve’s side and sliding beneath him, resting Steve’s head in his lap.

“Tony-“ Steve began, allowing his husband to maneuver him accordingly. At such a point, he’d accepted his defeat. “Come on.” The other stroked his cheek gently before pressing the bag just beneath his eye which, upon touch, Steve realized had become puffy and wet. 

“You come on,” Tony muttered, his other hand working to comb through the sandy-blonde hair. “If I were in your position, which I have been many times, you would have me strapped down to the bed.”

Steve sighed, finally surrendering to the other man’s soft touches. Tony fussed over him, relieving the skin and setting down the ice pack every once in a while. His fingers gently reached for Steve’s bandaged side and he pulled at the white wrapping to inspect the wound, wincing. It had healed rapidly due to Steve’s regeneration abilities, but it still looked fairly rough with stitching sticking out against his pale skin and wound slick with various medicines. Tony shook his head and bandaged it back up, going back to applying the ice pack.

“I’ve had worse,” Steve mumbled, voice quiet. The only other sound was the whirring of the air conditioning, beating down on him- Tony knew that he hated to be hot. 

“I don’t care if you’ve had worse, we’ve all had worse.” Tony shot back. “You’re taking it easy here with me until you can take a shower by yourself without passing out on the bathroom floor.” Steve winced- he’d never live that one down. “I just… I just worry about you.” He admitted finally, leaning forward to press a quick, hesitant kiss to Steve’s forehead.

“I know,” Steve admitted, forcing a thin-lipped smile. 

Tony sighed softly, inspecting the swell beneath Steve’s eye before he set aside the ice pack, laying Steve back on the pillow. He laid down, carefully laying a protective arm over Steve’s broad chest and resting his face in the crook of his husband’s neck. His eyes fluttered closed tiredly and he nuzzled there, pressing a number of gentle kisses to Steve’s neck.

“Don’t leave,” he demanded, though it sounded more like a weak request- and who could say no to that? 

Steve sighed, allowing for his own eyes to fall closed and for his aching body to relax into the gentle embrace. “I wont.”

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: odetopsychiatry
> 
> Go make requests!


End file.
